Salon
by streco
Summary: It started with a simple haircut... and ended up with three mutants fighting for their hair's life. Iggy tries to cut Max's hair, and then screws it up, and she goes after FangOH NO! [Oneshot, ahha, humor fic. HAIRCUT TIME FOR THE FLOCK!]mild language.


1**A/N: **Wassup, guys? Well, I got this idea and I had to write it. :)

"Hey! Watch it!"

I felt Iggy's soft hands on the back of my head, measuring my hair with his fingers. It had gotten incredibly long—down to my lower back—and we all decided on getting our hair cut for free by the almighty Iggy who is good at everything that involves having to be able to see.

Iggy laughed at my scream. "Come on, Max. Would I really screw up your hair on purpose?" He asked innocently, and I almost said "No," with a sigh of relief, but I saw the look on Fang's face and thought otherwise. I jumped up, leaving half my hair shoulder-length and the other half double.

"I don't trust you!" I hollered, pointing at him with a steady finger. "You're going to make me look like... like... a _blind _guy did it!"

Faking surprise, Iggy drew a hand to his mouth and looked at Fang. "Oh _no!_" he squeaked, and grinning and mimicking Iggy, Fang added, "Not _that!_"

"I hate you guys!" I shouted, sitting down in a huff and becoming Stubborn Max. "Cut someone else's hair—oh, I know, how about we cut _Fang's?_" and I leaped up in the air and shoved Fang to the ground, holding him down.

"Hey, what are you guys—OH MY GOSH, are we playing tackle Fang?" I saw a brown form launch itself in Fang's direction and suddenly Nudge was helping me keep him to the ground. "I _love _this game, it's so _fun_, what are we going to do for torture this time? We could, like, bend his arm back until he screams," I winced, "or maybe we could peel his skin off," _what?_, "or maybe we could—"

"_NO_, we are _not _playing tackle Fang," Fang corrected her, trying to shove me off of him but ending up—yeah, believe it—_laughing. _Yeah, I know, I was ready to alert the freaking media. "We are _playing _get_ off_ of Fang so he doesn't _die_ because _Max _is already almost breaking his neck as it _is_."

"Oh, whoops." I released some of the pressure I'd accidentally had on his neck... oops. "Iggy, come on, perfect timing!"

It must have been odd to see four kids pig piling on top of another, while a tall one that looked blind came at the pile with a pair of scissors in the middle of Central Park, but, heh, oh well. Iggy got close enough and then brought the scissors close to Fang's head, snapping them down. "_OW_, Ig, that's my fricking _ear!_"

"Oh, haha, sorry," Iggy apologized and then cut off a large hunk of Fang's hair—causing Fang to scream like a little girl and jump up in the air. Too late, the damage was done; a giant lock of hair was now in the grass of Central Park and Fang looked like a dilapidated hairstylist victim. Grinning, Iggy went in for another attack, but Fang broke into a run.

"Oh no you don't!" I shouted, snatching the scissors from Iggy. I hopped to my feet and began to chase after him, catching up to him in no time. Sprinting, I've always beat Fang. Long-distance... not so much. He's got stamina, I've got speed. "Get back here, you crazy deranged mutant!" I realized how odd that must've sounded to random passerby.

He looked over his shoulder and saw me, his eyes widening. "Oh, _shit_, Max—it's worse than Iggy!" he shrieked, and then he was running again. This was certainly an out of character day for Fang, I thought to myself, but put it aside and focused simply on running. _Catch up to him and then CHOP ALL HIS HAIR OFF! _I thought crazily, the idea becoming more exciting as I watched it progress in my mind.

Suddenly, Fang's head was no longer in view. Looking around for him, I found that he'd tripped over a root and had gone flying about ten feet forward. I smiled wickedly and continued to run, thinking of what I'd do to his hair when I'd got to him—maybe I'd give him a girly bob, or maybe I'd make it crooked, or maybe—oh God—I'd give him a crew cut, or there was always—

"AHHHHHHHHH!" I tripped over the same root as he had and went flying next to him, sticking the hand with the scissors out so I wouldn't stab myself in the chest. The scissors went soaring in front of the two of us. Alas, I could not move, rendered incapable of doing so after the wind had just been knocked out of me, but Fang dove forward for the scissors and practically sat on my back, hacking away at my beautiful locks that were no longer.

"CURSE YOU!" I screeched, bringing my hand to my hair to stop the vicious slicing. He cut a long line on my hand—not much, but it started bleeding. "Look what you've done! You've punctured the skin of thy mighty—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, suck it up, Gazzy hair."

I gasped. "You _DIDN'T!_"

He grinned evilly at me. "I did."

See, Gazzy hair is a term we use when someone has a terrible haircut. When he was younger, Jeb would always give him haircuts, but then Gazzy would hate it and go to freaking town trying to "fix it." His hair always turned out to look like crap, and so bad haircuts equal Gazzy hair in this family.

I attempted to make a vicious snarl—yeah, okay, it sounded like a squeak—and lunged forward, stealing the scissors from him and pinning him to the ground. Twisting my hand into his hair, I pressed my elbow into his back, and gleefully jammed his face into the grass of Central Park, rubbing it up and down so he got a full sample of how it tasted.

"Awww, yeah, man, how do you like _THEM _apples? Oh, yeah, mmhm, EAT IT, JUST EAT IT! EAT IT, JUST—"

"Mhfmfmhrg."

I couldn't understand what he was saying. "What?"

"Mhfm_fmh_rg," he repeated.

"What are you—"

He pushed his head up a bit. "This grass tastes like pesticides!"

"Oh." I pondered this for a moment and then decided that I honestly didn't care what he was eating. "Good! I hope you like them bugger killers, you crazy masochistic freak man... thing!"

"Oh, yes, _that _was matu—"

"What are you guys _doing?_" Nudge asked, walking over to me and Fang. It must've looked kind of odd—it seemed like I had him in a death grip, or I was ready to kill him.

"I'm giving him a haircut!"

"You look like you're wrestling."

To humor us, Iggy dropped to his knees and slapped his hand down three times. "One, two, three, pin!" and he stood up, clapping. "Max is the winner!" now he'd taken on a British accent, and a damn good one at that. "How do you feel about defeating the black-haired wonder, O One With Gazzy Hair?" he put his fist just below my mouth to serve as a microphone.

"I feel like giving someone a haircut!" and I dove back down, making it so his hair was just as ugly as mine.

And then I turned to Iggy and grinned wickedly.

"Shit," he muttered to Nudge out of the side of his mouth, "she's staring at me evilly, isn't she?"

"Yep."

"SAVE YOURSELF IGGY!" Fang cried from the ground.

But I got to him. But Iggy's long hair wasn't just cut short—oh, no, Iggy's hair was cut _off_. I cut all of his hair _off_ so the top was rigid and he looked like he'd just escaped from an insane asylum.

Welcome to the Maximum Ride Salon, people.

**A/N: **So this was totally pointless and stuff. :) And I didn't know how to end it.

Read my story "If You Were Gay," I like it a lot :)

THANKS FOR READING!

–Steph.


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